The vibrator had been very effective a couple of nights previously, I’d used it to massage his cock on a low setting, watching him writhe underneath me. This time without an audience I think I can push him more.

He confirms “Yes….OK…”. Answering in that coy way he’s perfected, biting his lip and making himself small. A response that says he wants it but it’s new, he might not like it but he trusts me so he he’ll try.

My delight is evident as I bounce and clap, my girly squeals fill the room and make him smile. Giving me permission pleases me and he does like to please. His smile falters on my instruction to “Lay down”, pointing towards the rug in the middle of the floor. There’s a hint of trepidation in his eyes. What is he letting himself in for? What did he just agree to?

My plans this afternoon hadn’t been geared towards abusing him but an innocent hug had turned to passionate kissing, and my kisses have teeth. He does make the best noises when I hurt him, nipping the soft skin on his neck. Feeling him pushing hard against me just encourages me to do it more.

I bound in, brandishing the wand with a mock-menacing laugh in an attempt to prompt the scared face which comes almost immediately. He tells me I get crazy eyes, full of mischief, my own brand of gleeful sadism.

He follows my instructions to strip, giving me the access I need to run the wand over him. Starting with his thighs, teasing him by running it over the sensitive skin but not quite making contact with his genitals. Not yet.

His head is thrown back and he’s juddering slightly, trying to process the unusual feeling. I watch him carefully as I move the wand onto his balls. Using my hand a barrier between his most sensitive area and the high powered vibrator. Stroking it up and down his cock I leave my hand in place, acting as the conduit for the vibrations.

He pushes and bucks upwards to request more and I tentatively remove my hand and gently push the wand on the end of his cock. He can take it directly, I’m impressed. I move the wand around in stroking motions, playing with his reactions.

I watch him. I drink it all his expressions. I watch his breathing get heavy. I pay attention to what is too much and what is just right. Moving the wand up and away when he begins to pant, blowing hard breaths out through pursed lips.

I stop the wand running to get feedback. Taking my time to talk to him, build the anticipation. To vary the intense pleasure of the wand with some desired pain. Jabbing him in the ribs with my fists before climbing on top and squeezing him hard between my thighs.

Punches to his jaw get different expressions, new ones than I have ever seen before. A ‘hate face’ surprisingly similar to the one that I pull, and for a rare moment a genuine “fuck you” expression that just spurs me on more. My punches are light but connect well, straight wrist, carefully aimed. I wonder if they’ll hurt for days like mine do, a subtle reminder of a good time shared.

He’s surprised when I tell him I’d been protecting his balls with my hand, claiming to have had no idea. I tell him “in that case I’ll be using it directly on you now…” giggling at his squirmy reaction.

“I’d better distract you” I decide, turning around and pulling up my dress to sit on his face. He doesn’t hesitate and cranes his neck upwards to put his mouth over me, nipping and sucking on my labia in that perfect way I like. I manage to stay just composed enough to move the wand against him, around his balls and downwards..

His only communication right now is through lips and hips. His mouth never stops pleasuring me and his hips buck as encouragement when I move over his cock. He wants more. He wants me to keep it there and I oblige.

“It feels really good on my cock” he tells me when I pull myself round to his side, having forced sweet buttery cum down his throat from my orgasmic release. My cunt responds to his words. I love that he’s enjoying it. Getting him off is getting me off and hearing it verbally is the ultimate in arousal.

I smother his cock in lube and glide the wand and my hand up and down the shaft, working them in unison, first the underside, over the sensitive head and down the other side until he’s bucking and bucking, hands above his head, face turned to the side and moaning with genuine gratification.

Having given enough pleasure I turn off the wand and place it one side. I turn my attention to the pain that he loves. I use his cock as barometer. The more I hurt him, the harder he gets. The cock never lies.

Straddling him I have the perfect view of his face. The best vantage point to watch him whimper, moan and object. Not that it will do him any good. I giggle as I torment him and parrot back his words to remind him “those pathetic “no, no, no”s …they are not safe words.”

I tell him that I’m reading and watching him and he has the opportunity to say if there’s anything he doesn’t want. But more importantly, that I know he wants it and the objections are just part of the headspace he needs to give himself to me like this.

“So feel free to tell me no all you like, I’m going to hurt you…why do I hurt you?”

“Because you like it?”

“Very good. Why else?”

“.…because it turns you on”

“aaaand….”

“because it turns me on.”

I confirm “Yes, yes it does” and squeeze on his cock which pulses and hardens as I pull on his nipples.

Faked punches to the stomach pulled at the last second get anticipatory arms flailing and a screwed up face, panting with anxiety at what is to come. I delight and giggle at his anticipation, telling him to keep his arms above his head. Demanding that he stay still and take it, for me.

I become a bratty version of my ‘little’ alter-ego. A playful mocking sadist in a cute tea dress adorned with cherries and skulls. “Oh honey…no? What do you mean no?” punch “but you like it, your cock is all hard…he’s telling on you…”

Still astride him I pull my feet up so they rest on his inner thighs, holding his legs apart, stocking clad toes digging into the muscle. I know he hates it the most, so much so that elbows to the same spot have become a hard limit. I gently wiggle my evil toes and watch him squirm. It clearly hurts. I’m so pleased.

I hadn’t planned on revenge, if anything I’m grateful for the introduction to cunt kicking but it seems like an opportune time to see how well he reacts to the same. I talk him through what I plan to do next, “As I recall, one of the first things you did was kick me in the cunt, I think it’s your turn!”

His eyes get bigger with panic, biting on his lip, already starting a soft murmuring of “no,no…ruff…why?…no…” but he doesn’t mean a single one of his objections, despite being genuinely afraid. He wants to take it. He wants to try; which after much coaxing I get him to admit.

I watch him carefully as I gently, very gently, tap my foot against different parts of his balls. I move it around, with extreme caution and care, all the time watching, gauging and frankly, very much enjoying his reaction. I’m confident in my skills to read him and whilst I might continue to wind him up with my words, threatening heavy hits on the most sensitive parts I keep my connections light. He’s reacting to my narrative far more than any physical sensations.

Ever appreciative of his easy to read responses I ease off when the gentle taps become too much, reminding him to breathe.

I quickly realise he can take more on his inner thigh and focus there, mixing it up with the occasional gentle tap to his balls. With my other foot I rub up and down his cock and ask him with a playful tone “If it hurts so much, why are you still hard?….”

I lean completely onto one side and draw my knee back as if to take a big swing. I berate him, I threaten a harder hit as he’s been taking it so well and enjoying it so much. I watch him object and pout and beg me not to. I watch him struggle to keep his hands above his head as he’s been told. I feel him struggle to keep his legs open, desperate to protect himself.

I break my promise, I give him mercy, placing my knees safely either side of him and removing my diggy toes from his thighs. I smother him with kisses, praise and strokes, sharing big beaming smiles. He tells me I’m good, I do fear play well, he was genuinely scared for what could have befallen his poor balls and yet he took it anyway because it made me so gleefully happy. A sweet revenge.